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Feng Xin’s first memory is of when he was four.

It’s of his birthday party - the one he shared with his twin sister, older by virtue of the six-minutes she’s born prior. Still, despite her entering the world first, it’s his name that’s iced on the very top of the cake, and hers on the line below it; ‘ Xin-Er and Jiaqi,’ the son, the daughter, the celebrated, and the second.  

“Xin-er, blow out your candles! Make a wish!” His mother urges, as the camera’s flash comes bursting to life. Young as he is, he doesn’t think about his sibling next to him; wobbly-lipped and bleary-eyed, curled in on herself like a broken-backed toad. All he knows how to be is a good son, a happy boy, and so he does as he’s told.

“His face! So concentrated!” his aunt laughs, leaning into his mother as he snuffs out the flames. “I have a very good feeling, A-li. Your son’s future is bright. He’ll grow up to be a strong, brave man!” 

“I do too,” his mother says, softening. She isn’t even talking to him, but in that moment, her eyes are trained onto him, and only him. She sighs. “I’m so happy. It’s nice to see him getting bigger. All those years of trying paid off - I now have a steadily growing son in front of me.” 

“You really do!” His aunt agrees. She shuffles to the side, and Feng Xin’s mother reaches over. With a sharp, glimmering knife,  she begins to portion up the cake. Feng Xin remembers well how disappointed he felt. Strong, brave boys should be able to cut their own desserts. Strong, brave boys should be able to get their own sweets. “Now now, Xin-er, this is too dangerous for you to use. You wait until you’re a bit older, okay?” 

Feng Xin pouts, but doesn’t mouth a word of protest. He sits patiently and waits for a slice to be put onto his plate, but thankfully, it doesn’t take long; after ensuring that it’s clean enough, pretty enough, his mother hums, and serves him his large and neatly-frosted piece. 

Then, he’s tucking into it without a second thought, scarfing and chewing and licking and biting. Messy, messy, messy, teeth and sugar and sugar and more teeth.

Besides him, his sister shifts to take her own share. Her movements are small. Feng Xin doesn't pay any mind to them, but his mother’s ensuing shout is unmissable, and in hindsight, he wishes he said something. 

“Jiaqi!” his mother screeches, genuinely alarmed. “That slice - isn’t it too big for a girl like you?!”

In response, Jiaqi flinches. She drops the cake and ruins the whole thing, and then - there was yelling, a lot of crying, balloons popping, and apologies, but only to him.

“Sorry about your ruined birthday, didi, ” Jiaqi is forced to say, as his mother looms over her shoulder. He stretches out a hand, but she’s pulled away before he can touch her. And then, he’s left at the table by himself - specifically instructed not to help as the other relatives clean up. 

“It’s your birthday, after all,” his father tells him. Feng Xin can’t quite discern his tone, but it’s strange; a bit cold. “Just stay there.”

So - he stays. 

₊⊹⁀➴₊⊹

Feng Xin’s second memory is when he was six.

He’s just come home from school, in a mood that’s as bright as can be; today he met another boy by the name of Xie Lian, who’s princely and smiles a lot and has a voice that reminds him of gentle prayer. He gets the feeling that they’ll be friends for a long time, maybe even forever, especially because Feng Xin has now sworn himself in as his royal guard. After all, people like him are always putting themselves second - Feng Xin needs to protect him and make sure he’s taking care of himself too! 

With a grin on his face, Feng Xin proudly tells his mother as such.

“That’s so lovely! Maybe you can even invite him to your archery practice next time!” His mother claps her hands together, and from behind her, his sister jolts. She’s already got food on her plate, it seems, but it’s all untouched. “Come, come. Eat before the food gets cold!” 

Feng Xin happily complies. He pulls out a chair and hops on the seat, standing up high to tug dishes off the table as he pleases. It’s only when he starts to eat that his sister does too, but it’s also as he begins speaking that she sadly curls in. 

“Is there any more beef?” he asks, despite not yet having swallowed his mouthful of said dish. 

His mother hums. “Hm, let me see.” She fishes around the dish with the serving spoon, then frowns when she seems to find nothing. 

‘Nevermind, it’s okay then,’ Feng Xin almost tells her, but he’s cut off by her going, “Ah, there,” and stealing the share of meat from Jiaqi’s plate to his. 

“Growing boys need more meat.” She winks, before shooting a look that could set fires to forests to his trembling sister. It’s almost as if there are two people living under her skin; a mother for him , and a mother for her . “Go on! Eat, eat.” 

Hesitantly, he lifts a scoop to his lips. “ It’s not fair,” he hears his sister seethe, so quiet, so vitriolic that he thinks it is the work of a yaoguai. Then he looks at her - gritted teeth, shaking fists, wild-eyes shadowed by her centered bangs - and he thinks it very-well may be.

“Xin-er, why do you look so upset? Eat, eat!” his mother spurs again, and if nothing else - Feng Xin knows how to listen in ways that make him a good son.

₊⊹⁀➴₊⊹

Feng Xin is eight when he learns to swear. 

It’s something that’s in fashion with the boys at the school’s sports clubs and his frequented archery range - especially those older. First it’s stupid, and then it’s ass, but soon it’s things like bastard and damn and shit and fuck. 

He doesn’t mean for it to, but it very quickly becomes a habit.  There’s something fun about it - about getting rowdy and yet still fitting in. So soon his every one to three words become punctuated with expletives; ‘I fucked up,’ and ‘I don’t even fucking understand,’ are intergrated into a key part of his self-expression, and it’s almost like he doesn’t know who he is without being able to say them. 

He tries his best to contain himself outside of those circles, though. Xie Lian never scolds him for it, but he does frown in a way that means he’s reflecting on all his parents’ gentle teachings and trying to decide on whether something is just and right. Feng Xin admires him for it. He likes that Xie Lian doesn’t just follow along with what others say, and thinks for himself. It’s something that Feng Xin struggles with, but that’s okay - Xie Lian is a good example. He’ll follow along. He’ll learn in time. 

His mother , though, he’s sure will be a different story. He’s seen it before, the way she’s reacted to Jiaqi saying “The hell?!” as if she’d just spat on their nainai’s grave. 

So suffice to say, that when Feng Xin accidentally lets out a “ Shit!” in front of her, as an automatic response to breaking his favourite mug, he expects a world-ending, Earth-shattering lecture. 

And yet that isn’t what happens.

“Aiya.” His mother clicks her tongue. “Be careful. Don’t walk here until I’ve swept everything up. I don’t want you cutting your feet.”

“...You’re not mad?” Feng Xin asks, obediently awaiting the consequences of his actions. 

“At you for dropping the mug? It was an accident,” his mother responds. She continues to clean away the shattered fragments without complaint, even starting to hum quietly to herself. 

“For swearing.” Feng Xin swallows. He wrings his hands together nervously, and adds, “I’m really sorry, ma. I know you don’t like me saying that kind of stuff.”

His mother looks at him and frowns. “I assumed you learned that from your friends in the range?” 

Feng Xin stills. He really, really hopes that she isn’t considering pulling him out. Archery is his lifeblood, the one thing he’s taken to with barely any struggle. He’d take any punishment over having it taken from him - anything.  

Nevertheless, he is a good son. And good sons are honest. “Yeah,” he admits. “I did.”

His mother sets the broom aside. “So what are you worried about? It’s normal,” she explains, but it doesn’t make things any clearer. “Of course I’d prefer it if you didn’t, but… I knew what I was signing up for when I let you do sports. You boys will just be like that.”

Feng Xin blinks, unmoving. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s something definitely awry here. Something frustrating, that makes him want to scratch at his neck like a heat rash. 

His mind roves to thoughts of his sister.

‘So what about Jiaqi, then?’ He wants so badly to question. At the end of the day, he isn’t dull. The rift between him and his twin sister grows larger by the day, and their bond is nonexistent. Feng Xin finds it frustrating that none of his friends at school seem to experience the same thing; even Xie Lian’s freaky little cousin and him spend dedicated time together, and they don’t even share a set of parents. ‘What if she joined me? Could she swear too?’ 

“Just try not to do it in front of your yiyi. She’d find it crude,” his mother instructs. She quirks an eyebrow at him when she notices him still standing around, then softens. “Do you really feel so bad about breaking the mug? Don’t worry. It was an old thing anyways. Go grab yourself another cup of juice.”  

As always, Feng Xin bows his head, and does as he is told.

₊⊹⁀➴₊⊹

Feng Xin is twelve when he first meets him. 

Him, of course, being Mu Qing; the most prickly, snarky, complicated human being he’s ever had the displeasure of talking to. He’s rude, he’s ungrateful, he steals so much of Xie Lian’s attention and offers nothing in return, he’s so damn pretty that it hurts.

And his punches - those also hurt plenty. Feng Xin learns firsthand that despite the other boy’s light build, Mu Qing’s strength isn’t something to be underestimated. But that’s okay, because Feng Xin teaches him the very same lesson.

“I can’t believe this,” their teacher says, arms crossed as he watches the nurse hand them each an ice pack. “Mu Qing, you’re new to this school. You just joined last week. ” Mei laoshi's head snaps towards Feng Xin. “Feng Xin, you’ve always been so good. A little loud, but such a nice boy . What happened to you?”

His gaze rolls back to Mu Qing. It’s obvious that he thinks he already has an answer.

“In any case, I’m going to have to call your parents.”

Feng Xin sighs. It is what it is. Ma’s going to raise hell, spring to his defense and embarrass him, but he’d anticipated this from the moment he sat down on the infirmary bed-

“Please don’t,” Mu Qing begs. His voice is wobbly and nothing at all like in the hour before. Feng Xin barely recognises it.

“It’s school policy, Mu Qing,” Mei laoshi scolds. “I can’t just not follow it as I please.”

“Please,” Mu Qing tries again. It does something terrible to Feng Xin’s stupid heart. “My mama is-”

“No matter the circumstances, I cannot just make exceptions,” Mei laoshi snaps. Mu Qing instantly shrinks himself, shaking like a little withered leaf. “This isn’t like your previous school, Mu Qing. We have a proper set of regulations to adhere to here. There’s a certain way things should be escalated, and-”

“It was my fault,” Feng Xin declares, before he himself even realises it. Besides him, Mu Qing’s eyes grow wide, and he gapes. “I threw the first punch. And I called him a stinking, shit-headed idiot.”

“Wh-”

“Quiet, Mu Qing. Feng Xin, are you sure that’s what happened?” Mei laoshi asks. 

“Yes.” Feng Xin sits up straighter. “I am.” 

“You’re absolutely certain.” Mei laoshi squints. For some reason, it doesn’t seem like it’s what he wants to hear. It’s almost as if he’s hoping that the school’s usual protocol will take place, and Mu Qing will end up with a strike far stronger than if either of them simply confessed first. “This will get put on your record.”

“I know,” Feng Xin confirms. The disciplinary ledger is honestly the least of his worries; it doesn’t exactly pose a threat to him when he’s still got a fantastic rapport with his other tutors. Plus, his performance in the school’s archery team is likely to carry him far. He’ll be okay. 

On the other hand, he gets the feeling that Mu Qing won’t be.

“The hell was that?” Mu Qing asks later, when all the adults have finally left them. They’re waiting together for Xie Lian to finish up a tutoring session, spotting matching blotches of blue-black on the sides of their face.  

“Nothing,” Feng Xin insists. He grabs the bottle of Cola that sits in his bag and pops it open, gagging when the room-temperature fizz fills his mouth. 

“Whatever. You better not think I owe you anything,” Mu Qing seethes, and Feng Xin finds that the urge to strike is growing strong again. “I refuse to be in your debt.”

“What the fuck?” Feng Xin scowls. “Who said anything about a ‘debt’ ? There are voices in your head, man!”

“You did not just - fine, whatever.” Mu Qing deflates. Feng Xin stares as the other boy kicks his feet around on the ground below them, legs drawing idle circles in the tarmac.

“...But thanks, I guess,” Mu Qing eventually mumbles. His ears turn an alarming shade of red and - Feng Xin’s breath catches. It’s adorable. 

“...No problem,” Feng Xin eventually manages, after a pause that lasts much longer than he’d like. He’s only twelve, so he doesn’t recognise then that the quickening of his heart, the clamminess of his hands, the hairs standing on the back of his neck all mean he has a crush. And he’s only twelve, so he doesn’t learn until much later that it doesn’t matter anyways; all that love, and he’ll still end up left behind in the end.

He’s only twelve , so in the way twelve year-olds do, he offers: “Wanna come to my place later and play video games?”

A look flashes across Mu Qing’s face. He looks away.

“Yeah.” The door opposite comes swinging open. Xie Lian steps out. “Okay.”

₊⊹⁀➴₊⊹

Being thirteen marks two key things: the start of Feng Xin’s first growth spurt, and the arguments in his house beginning. 

It’s confusing. Devastating, upon reflection as an adult, when he thinks back to what he could’ve done. Though as a thirteen year old, it’s really just confusing . Because relatives and teachers always made it seem like puberty would be such a horrible, life-changing event. And yet, Feng Xin feels almost entirely the same; save for his half-cracked voice and perpetually sweaty palms, the only thing different is that he’s a few centimetres taller and putting on muscle much more quickly.

It also helps that his mother is so supportive. She always is. Feng Xin can’t even bring himself to feel embarrassed when she pinches his cheeks and tells him, “My son is finally become a big, strong man! But don’t forget you’re always mama’s baby, okay?”; she’s careful of never doing that in public, and it is always, always out of love. 

Always.

The same can’t be said for Jiaqi.

That fact is made painfully clear when a cacophony of screaming - which he recognises as his mother’s voice - and thumping awakens Feng Xin during a sleepover with Xie Lian and Mu Qing. By then, Xie Lian is already wide-awake with him, and Mu Qing is barely just sitting up. But Feng Xin is a morning person above morning people, and so he easily climbs out of bed. 

“Dianxia, Mu Qing, you guys stay here. I’ll go check what’s going on,” he instructs. After all, it’s his duty to protect those he loves. Ma told him so. 

He shuts the door tightly behind him, and travels towards the source of the sound. It doesn’t take more than thirty-seconds; in front of his mother’s room, Jiaqi lays pinned to the floor, heaving. Her arms are held above her head by their mother’s hands, and in her own is a dark pink box. 

‘Tampax,’ it says in bold, white writing.

“You- you , Jiaqi, how could you?!” His mother wails, pressing down even harder. Jiaqi grits her teeth. “P-putting things in yourself! I can’t believe you’d do this! Did I really raise such a- a-”

“Yeah, go on! Say it!” His sister shouts, lifting her knee upwards to try and kick their mother away. Feng Xin is completely appalled; this all just has to be some sort of nightmare. There’s no way any of this is actually happening. “I’m not doing anything wrong! I play volleyball! I cycle! It’s more comfortable for me to use this, and I want to be comfortable! So what’s wrong?!”

“It’s inappropriate! And who even told you you could play those sports? I know I certainly never did! ” His mother insists, and then, when she adds more force, Jiaqi winces. 

Feng Xin has never seen her react to pain. Not even once.

“Ma? Jie? What’s going on?” Feng Xin asks, terrified. But not as much as his mother is - who freezes like a rigid corpse in rigor mortis. 

“Nothing!” His mother snips, forcing a worried smile on her face. “A-Xin, can you go back to your room, please? Where are your friends?”

From below her, Jiaqi frees her left arm.. “No - go on, tell him what you’re doing!” 

“Ah,” his mother gapes. “A-Xin, please-”

“Tell him!” Jiaqi wrenches out her remaining limb. In one swift motion, she shoves their mother off of her, and stands up straight. Feng Xin immediately catches sight of the patch of red on his sister’s shorts, dead centre, where the front stitch is. “Tell him! Go on, now!”

“Don’t let your brother see!” His mother shrieks, rising to her feet as well. She covers Jiaqi’s body with her own, and repeats, “A-Xin, please, your room-”

“Get off of me, you witch !” his sister pushes their mother back, hard, with enough force that she hits the wall. Feng Xin regrets it to this day, but that ’s the moment that he steps in, and unfortunately for him, he chooses the wrong side.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Don’t fucking treat ma like that!” He bellows, stepping between them. Then, he turns his attention to his mother, and softly guides her onto her wobbly feet. “Ma, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

If Feng Xin had turned around then, he’d notice the look on his sister’s face; gravely wounded, with a gutted expression and glistening eyes, a growing bloom in the shape of a palm on her cheek. He’d notice how red her arms were, too; alongwith how one knee seems bowed in with exertion. 

“...Fine,” his sister mutters, to no one at all, before turning on her heel and leaving. Feng Xin pays her no mind, instead helping his mother back to her bedroom. He tucks her in as if she’s his child.

“I just don’t know what to do with that rotten girl,” his mother sighs. Feng Xin doesn’t say anything, just kisses her goodnight with an acrid taste on his lips.

“Is everything okay?” Xie Lian asks, the second he returns. Feng Xin doesn’t point out that he knows they were listening. The door was slightly ajar when he entered, but even if it wasn’t, that fight was thunderous. He wouldn’t be surprised if it woke the neighbours. 

Mu Qing hugs his knees to his chest. “Your sister, is she-” 

“She’s fine. Don’t sweat it. I took care of things.” Feng Xin climbs back into bed. “ Dianxia , next time, can we stay at your place instead?”

Xie Lian and Mu Qing shoot each other looks. Feng Xin pretends to not see it. “...Of course,” Xie Lian eventually agrees. He lies back down next to Feng Xin, and Mu Qing shuffles back onto the floor mat. “But that means you’ll have to be okay with Xiao Jing. He’ll want to play with us.” 

“ Ugh,” Feng Xin and Mu Qing both groan in unison. 

“ Fine,” Feng Xin says. Anything would be better than this.

₊⊹⁀➴₊⊹

Feng Xin is fifteen when he’s woken in the middle of the night. 

He’s groggy, his vision is bleary. He’d fallen asleep mid-way through angrily texting Mu Qing; his friend had lost the shitty rubber pendant Feng Xin crafted when they were both fourteen - the one Feng Xin painstakingly spent hours handmaking in their arts and crafts class. 

He wakes , abruptly, and it’s to the sound of desperate rustling; frantic and compound, made up by a variety of different objects. The first thought that springs in his head is that it’s an outsider - an intruder, a threat, and so he leaps from his bed and into its direction, heart in his throat when he realises it’s coming from Jiaqi’s room. 

The door is slightly ajar when he reaches, and Feng Xin shoves it open. The sight that he’s met with is so much worse than he could’ve ever imagined: Jiaqi, surrounded by three half-packed bags and a mountain of things, clearly sorted in order of necessity.

“...What’s going on?” he asks, not missing the way his sister freezes. Something terrible curls in his belly, sinking in him like stones at the bottom of a lake. 

“...I’m packing my things,” she admits, after a few minutes go by. “Don’t try to stop me.”

“Why?” Is all Feng Xin can will from his lips. In the back of his mind, the answer is already obvious. This was always much more his house than her’s. “You’re going?”

She shoves a smaller pouch into her bag, and from its bloated, rectangular shape, Feng Xin guesses that it’s all the money she’s made from odd-jobs and the like. “Yeah.” 

“Why?” he tries again.

Jiaqi shoots him a look. It dries out his throat and makes his blood run cold. “Do you really not know?” she responds. She stands up, slings a bag over her shoulder, slings another across her chest, picks up her suitcase, and makes for the stairs. 

Like a helpless, heartbroken mutt, Feng Xin trails her in silence. Down the hallway and to the lower floor, until the two of them are stood in front of the still-shut entranceway. It’s the first time in his life he’s ever felt this weak; what does he even do? Does he cry? Does he beg? Does he yell for her, for ma?

No, he realises then and there. There isn’t any point in that.

Ma probably wouldn’t care. And if she did, it’d just be because Jiaqi was stressing him out. 

“Listen,” Jiaqi starts. Up this close, her exhaustion is unmissable; her eyes are surrounded by dark circles, and she wears a cloak of weariness like second skin. “I don’t have anything against you. But ma’s raised us too differently.” A pause, and then she’s patting around herself to double-check that she’s taken all her belongings. “We’re never going to get along. And to be quite honest - ma’s set you up for failure, didi.”

Feng Xin’s voice is barely above a whisper when he asks, “...What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Jiaqi opens her mouth, closes it. She chews around her bottom lip, then, as if having come to a decision, takes a deep breath. “Nothing.” She reaches out, and twists open the doorknob. “Just that you may end up a little lonely. Don’t hate ma too much for it. She was trying to be good to you.”

Then, she leaves, latching the door with a click in her wake. 

₊⊹⁀➴₊⊹

When Feng Xin is sixteen, the cracks in Xie Lian’s parents’ company starts showing.

It’s one bad deal, at first, then two. Then it’s a minor upset, some tiny public scandal, and bad press.

Then Feng Xin is seventeen, and everything crumbles. 

He doesn’t know what’s the final thing that does it; what’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back, the nail in the coffin. All he knows is that soon, Uncle Xie is filing for bankruptcy, the Xies are downsizing their homes, and Xie Lian loses everything just. Like. That. 

One second, he’s the beloved prince of their school. The ideal pupil, the well-rounded star. The face of every extracurricular club. He’s even an aspiring model - one that big name magazines can’t seem to get enough of, and is always taking Mu Qing along. Then, he’s the social outcasts of social outcasts; poor, useless, a public stain. Embarrassing to be seen with. Made fun of as he walks.

It’s disgusting. So, so disgusting, and Feng Xin feels anger like he’s never felt anger before. He doesn’t understand how anyone can do this - Xie Lian has never been anything but kind in his life. It just doesn’t make sense. Who cares that his family no longer has money? Who gives a damn? It isn’t as if they’d be marrying in, so why? 

“You’ll get used to it,” Mu Qing says one night, to a plain-faced Xie Lian. It’s not a good day; they’re out at their favourite Xiao Yang Sheng Jian outlet, down in Ningbo Road. It’s seven seventeen and they’re still in their ugly tracksuits, Xie Lian’s dropped his T-Union card in a public toilet, Mu Qing’s scallion pancakes have come thrice-burned, and Feng Xin’s shoes are hurting his feet.

Still, the worst part of all of this is what Mu Qing’s just said. Feng Xin can’t believe his ears - was that supposed to be comforting? Feng Xin sees red. 

“The fuck?!” He jumps up from his seat. “The fuck is that supposed to mean? No he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t have to get used to anything!”

Mu Qing scowls. “I know you’ve been raised in this precious bubble,” Mu Qing replies, rising as well. “But that’s not how the world works. There are some things you’ll just have to suck up and put up with, sorry to break it to you.”

“Well how the fuck would you know?” Feng Xin seethes. He leans in, and Xie Lian puts himself between them. A cold chill runs up Feng Xin’s spine and he gets a bad, bad feeling about all of this. This won’t be like their other fights - this is about to be incomprehensibly worse. “You haven’t lost anything!” He stiffens. “What, unless you mean you’ve no longer been able to coast off Dianxia?”

This time, the fist that collides with his jaw is steel. Mu Qing’s knuckles will surely be blistered later, and if Feng Xin was just five, eight, ten years older, he’d stop and stare at Mu Qing’s look of utter heartbreak. He’d take back everything he said, because it’s all baseless; Mu Qing is the hardest worker he’s ever known. Mu Qing regularly falls asleep in public libraries and skips lunch. Mu Qing doesn’t like asking anyone for anything, so his life has only ever been his own.

(He’s the one that’s been leeching.)

But he isn’t. He isn’t. He’s seventeen;  seventeen. He’s fucking stupid. He’s about to lose the love of his life, and he doesn’t even know it. 

Feng Xin punches back, putting the bulk off his weight into that one swing. Mu Qing stumbles back and sways a little bit; it doesn’t help that exam season is right around the corner. This must have been his first good meal in like what, a week? 

He still only takes a few seconds to recover. Stupid, beautiful, resilient bastard. 

Mu Qing dives forward, hammering straight into Feng Xin’s nose, and effectively snapping cartilage from bone. Feng Xin’s retaliation is equally as explosive; the crack that resonates from Mu Qing’s chest means that a ribcage has at least gone bruised. 

“Don’t you ever fucking speak to me again,” Mu Qing heaves, when Xie Lian has finally separated them both, and only just pacified the restaurant’s manager from calling the police. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Feng Xin pants back, hocking and spitting a clot of blood onto the floor. “Fucking piece of shit. And you better stay away from Dianxia too!”

Despair flickers on his face. It’s a terrible look, but Feng Xin finds that he keeps applying the foundation for it. “Oh, I will,” Mu Qing promises, and then he is the first to walk out.

“You boys fight all the time,” his mother tells him later, as she holds a cold compress to his now-crooked nose. 

‘This wasn’t a regular fight,’ he wants to tell her. The day’s events are now seeping into his skin, sinking, sinking , and just - what has he done? 

She cups his cheek. “Just a part of growing up.” 

‘No.’ Feng Xin feels very, very nauseous all of a sudden. ‘You don’t understand. I broke his heart.’ 

Again. With hindsight - he’d know it’s true. Ma doesn’t understand. She’d never understand. To her, boys don’t have hearts. Boys have muscle and height and brawn in their bodies, the way sons have honesty and courage and loyalty and wrath.

“Give him a day or two. Soon you’ll be back at each other’s throats.”

His mother passes the ice pack to him to hold, and Feng Xin walks upstairs with it, past the hallway that’s decorated with photos of only him, her, his dad, sluggish and slow. 

₊⊹⁀➴₊⊹

Feng Xin is eighteen when his life falls apart.  

Firstly, Mu Qing scores not only the highest in their school, but the whole of their division. The combination of his extracurriculars and perfect grades earn him a full-ride scholarship to motherfucking Peking University, meaning that he’s about to move very far away: a twelve hour minimum drive, a four-hour and twenty-minute journey by bullet train, a two hour flight by plane.

Whatever , Feng Xin tells himself. It’s not like they’ve been talking anyways. Mu Qing has spent the last year sucking up to teachers and Xie Lian’s bullies. Feng Xin doesn’t want him around. His presence will be anything but missed.

Liar. Liar. 

Xie Lian, though - Feng Xin is torn up about; somehow, his best friend had ‘ended up’ flunking out completely, meaning that Feng Xin’s own acceptance into Fudan University will have to be on its own.

That’s not the worst part, though. 

“I think I’m going to live by myself for a while. Travel around. Figure myself out,” Xie Lian explains, smiling like how he does when trying to let someone down easy. 

“...Where will you go?” Feng Xin whispers. His chest is so tight, and he scarcely manages to breathe.

“I think further up. Maybe Anhui, or Hubei.” The corner of Xie Lian’s eyes crinkle. “If I’m feeling adventurous enough, maybe Henan or Jiangsu.” 

He doesn’t say it, but Feng Xin hears it nonetheless: “ Don’t come looking for me,” in clear enunciated syllables. “There isn’t a place for you. ”

“Oh. Are you really-” Feng Xin’s shoulders hunch. Of course Xie Lian is sure. When isn’t Xie Lian sure? He knows what he’s doing, and if he needs Feng Xin to stay away, then Feng Xin will stay away. “Okay. I’ll miss you, Dianxia.”

“ Oh,” Xie Lian coos, sweeping him into a hug. “I’ll miss you so much more. You’re my best friend, Feng Xin. But I promise it’s not forever. You know it’s not forever.”

Does he?

“I’m not sure how long it’ll be, butI’ll be back one day. Okay?”

Xie Lian lets go. Feng Xin’s arms hang stupidly in the air for a moment’s more, before he catches himself and forces them to his side.

“Of course.” Feng Xin nods. He’s a good boy, a good friend; he has to be strong. He’s now eighteen, right? So it’s imperative that he acts like an adult. No crying. No tears! Set his emotions aside, and selflessly accept what comes with. “Do what’s best for yourself, Dianxia.” 

“Thank you, ah, Feng Xin,” Xie Lian earnestly says. “For taking care of me my whole life. My royal guard.” 

Feng Xin chokes back a sob. Xie Lian hasn’t used that nickname since they were in pre-school.

“Now it’s time for this prince to learn to live by himself. He’s been shielded in safety for too long. Now he shall set his knight free!”

Feng Xin is barely just stopping himself from losing it. 

‘No. Dianxia, it was you who kept me safe.’ He wants to reach out. He wants to hug Xie Lian again, and never let go. He wants to relive every single sleepover, let life play back one more time. They’ll introduce themselves, “Hi, I’m Xie Lian!” and “Hi, I’m Feng Xin! Wow - you look like a prince!” He’ll push Xie Lian on the swings again, higher, higher, higher! He’ll stand around awkwardly while Xie Lian tears into Xiao Jing for trying to put soap in his food. He’ll do it all again.

Except right, this time. He’ll do it right. He’ll do it right! Whatever right means, he’ll do it.

Just as long as he gets everyone to stay.

A voice that sounds suspiciously like Mu Qing pops into his head. That just isn’t how the world works .

“I might change my number, so don’t be too alarmed if the old one is unreachable,” Xie Lian warns. “When I come back, I know I’ll see your name in big, bold letters! Feng Xin, the nation’s top archer, doctor in sports science.” 

“Yeah,” Feng Xin agrees half-heartedly. “You will.”

Satisfied, Xie Lian turns on his heel.

And leaves.

₊⊹⁀➴₊⊹

Feng Xin is nineteen when he encounters Jian Lian. 

By that point, he’s one year deep into his degree. It’s okay so far, more boring than challenging, tolerable enough to continue. His grades are fine and his social life is okay . He makes friends: a few guys in miscellaneous sporting activities, the receptionist of the gym he goes to, a fuckboy by the name of Pei Ming.

Feng Xin tries to keep his distance, but of all of them, Pei Ming’s the one he’s closest to. He’s a fun guy - his jokes are annoying and  he won’t stop telling everyone that Feng Xin has ‘a war-ending, weapon of mass destruction’ in his pants - but he’s nice.

It’s on one of their lunch hangouts together that Feng Xin spots her. 

Initially, Feng Xin had thought it was a certain familiar, catty, difficult old not-friend of his, but no. It ends up being an entirely different catty, difficult person, and Feng Xin is instantly smitten.

“I’m gonna leave you two to it.” Pei Ming wolfishly grins, throwing out a wink as he quickly escapes.

“What- hey!” Feng Xin gapes. “ Pei Ming , you piece of-”

A looming presence behind him cuts him off. “Why the hell are you shouting like that in public?” 

Feng Xin turns around, grimacing. He’s met with the sight of smooth skin, sharp eyes, painted lips with a mole to their left; the second prettiest person he’s ever seen.

“Hi I’m Feng Xin,” Feng Xin dumbly introduces in lieu of an answer. He cringes when the words come flying out his mouth, wanting so desperately to crawl into his own skin. 

Luckily, it seems to work out. “That’s not what I-” the woman laughs. It’s probably in disbelief. “You know what? Jian Lan. Nice to meet you.”

From there, it’s a whirlwind of romance. Feng Xin takes her on almost-daily dates and spends his late nights on the phone with her, promising love, promising the world. He buys her flowers at every opportunity; roses, camelia, lilies. He compiles playlists full of songs that remind him of her. Lang Hua Yi Duoduo. Chunjiang Hua Yueye. Yin Tian. He loves her. She loves him.

They smile together. They eat together. They sleep together. 

They sleep together. And one day, Jian Lan climbs into his car’s passenger seat, looking around to make sure the door is unlatched. She holds up a small bag that contains an even smaller pregnancy test, gesturing at the two bold, red lines.

“I’m keeping it,” she declares. And Feng Xin’s heart stops.

“But I’m not staying,” she adds. And Feng Xin’s heart breaks.

Not again, is the first thing that Feng Xin thinks. Not again, not again, not again , not again.  

“Why?” Is all Feng Xin can muster. “ Please.”

“My parents would never allow me to keep it.” Then I’ll go with you. “And if you follow me, you’ll end up resenting me.” 

“I won’t ,” Feng Xin insists. “I love you.”

Jian Lan shakes her head. “Our love was only meant to last for so long.” Sadly, she covers her Feng Xin’s hand with her own, sweeping her thumb over his scarred knuckles. “Your future is too bright. You can’t give up everything. And if you do, you’ll spend your life regretting it. I don’t want to be someone’s hated wife. I really don’t.“ She exhales. “And to be honest, I think you do love me - but only because you see someone else in me.” 

Feng Xin’s stomach lurches with an all-too familiar nausea. He’s sitting up straight and yet his vision is spinning, rendering him dizzy and a single halted breath away from suffocating. 

“Think about it. Three months in, and you’re telling me that you want to marry me? That your mother will love me? What makes you so sure?” 

‘Because my mother loved Mu Qing,’ is the honest response.  He can’t say it. It’ll prove her exactly right.

Jian Lan is astutely smart. She notices anyway. 

“See. That’s that, then.” Her hand flies to the handle, and three scenes play in Feng Xin’s head simultaneously: Jiaqi’s hand on the knob, Mu Qing’s long hair flipping around one last time, Xie Lian walking ahead. 

Jian Lan drops a small kiss to his tear-stained temple, leans to the side, and shoves the car door open. “Goodbye, Feng Xin. Take care.”

She steps out, and sprints. 

Feng Xin can’t help it this time; he drops his head onto the steering wheel. He sobs. He screams. 

₊⊹⁀➴₊⊹

The next three years pass by in a blur.

A distant, hazy, and admittedly drunken blur; wake up, work out, do a bit of his assignments, drink himself to sleep. Repeat. Wake up, work out, do a bit of his assignments, drink himself to sleep. Repeat. The only variance is when Pei Ming personally drags him out his dorm, or when there’s the additional task of begging a professor for an extension.

It all feels like one overdrawn and cyclical attempt at torture. It feels like god has personally left him to rot; wrenched him by the shoulders and torn him apart, gutted him grouper-style from the belly out. Plucked his heart and sewn him back up, doomed him to the very human experience of inhumanity. 

It all feels that way. For three years. Three years. Three years. Three years. One thousand and ninety-five days. One million five hundred seventy-seven thousand eight hundred eighty minutes. Ninety-four million six hundred seventy-two thousand eight hundred seconds.

Three years. Three. 

Still, he survives. At twenty-two, Feng Xin graduates. 

As a kid, he’d imagined it’d be this big, thunderous thing. In his father’s pictures, it was as if the whole family tree was invited. Grandparents from both sides were present, alongwith aunts, uncles, parents, siblings. In Feng Xin’s, only his mother makes it.

“Traffic was terrible! I almost missed the whole thing!” She cries, tugging on Feng Xin’s robe, doing her best to smooth the thing out. It’s ridiculous; it’s still hours from any part of the ceremony starting, and honestly, Feng Xin wouldn’t mind if she did. It’s not like there‘s much he’s done in the past four years that’s worth celebrating. He’s had his heartbroken, he’s fathered a child who he’s never seen, he’s become a shell of his former self. “Can you imagine? Missing my boy’s big day, finally! I’d rather die!”

Feng Xin closes his eyes. She’s been saying things like this for months; urging him to get tickets as soon as bookings were open, and forcing him to get measured for his cloak. Meanwhile, his father’s not said one word of congratulations. Meanwhile, Jiaqi’s been gone for years. 

Some kind of fucking family.

“Come, picture!” His mother commands, when she’s finally content with how he looks. She yanks up her phone and snaps a selfie before he’s even ready, then drags him off to the stands. There, his peers are present by the dozens. They’re all proudly smiling and holding burgeoning floral bouquets, surrounded by those dearly-cherished in the swarms. 

Feng Xin feels lonely. It isn’t anything new. 

Then, just as the past three years have, the ceremony is experienced in a haze.

“Have you decided where you’ll be taking your Master’s?” His mother asks, at the end of everything. Feng Xin shamefully shakes his head; there are few things that sound more agonising than continuing his studies, almost nothing that makes him want to die as much. Unfortunately for him, disappointing his mother happens to be one of them. 

“It’s okay, you have a bit of time left,” she comforts. Bit of time before what, he doesn’t know. “Your father and I are going to get old one day. We’ll need our good son to take care of us.”

Feng Xin shrinks. “Of course, I’ll keep working hard.”

“I know you will!” His mother brightens immediately. She grins and lifts up his cap to ruffle his hair, as if he is her prized pedigree puppy. “Listen, I have to go soon - but free up Saturday night! Your father should be free then. We’ll have dinner together. It’ll be like old times.” 

Feng Xin grimaces. It won’t be. Someone will be missing from the dining table.

His mother continues smiling, not a care in the world. 

“Sure, of course.” 

Satisfied, his mother departs, taking his things with. Feng Xin returns to his dorm on his own in just his suit, ready to collapse and never wake up.

His phone rings. With a sigh, Feng Xin fumbles around for it, doing his best to decline. Whoever it is can wait. He’s tired. 

He’s also clumsy ; with an accidental swipe, he answers.

“Hoho, if it isn’t the newest addition to our University’s alumni! The legendary Ju Yang himself!” 

Feng Xin groans. “Shut the fuck up , man.” 

“Well come kiss me if you want me to,” Pei Ming replies, full of shit as ever. “Anyways! I’m hosting a party tonight. Come!” 

“Dude, I just graduated. I’m tired.” Feng Xin scrubs a hand across his face. He hopes that he’s conveying enough just how exhausted he is; he’s already wobbly on his feet as it stands. 

“Just this one night, c’mon,” Pei Ming tries again. “It’s the last time that everyone from this cohort will be here!” 

Feng Xin doesn’t care. He doesn’t even talk to them. “No.”

“Feng Xin,” Pei Ming calls again, sterner. “Come.”

“No.” Feng Xin scowls.

“Come!”

“ No .”

“ Come!” 

“ No!” 

“ Feng Xin!” Pei Ming shouts, but they both know it’s joking. “Come! Don’t make diedie angry - not unless you want me to post on Maimai about how you pulled down your pants and showed me your thirty-centimetre sabre of annihilation-”

“ Okay, okay, shut the fuck up!” Feng Xin screams, beet red. “I’ll come, I’ll come! Just send me the fucking location!”

“Okay, great!” Pei Ming’s tone instantly changes. “No need for that. My place, you know how to get here. I’m going to go suck someone’s face off, now. Toodles!” 

The line goes dead, and Feng Xin hurls his phone. 

ִ ﾒ₊✧ ﾟ⚬𓂂➢

The party is already in full swing when Feng Xin arrives; music booms around them and the living room is an endless sea of gyrating bodies. Pei Ming greets him with an, “Oi!” and Feng Xin only just manages to not beat him bloody. 

“I fucking hate you,” Feng Xin offers, in lieu of a response. Pei Ming guffaws loudly and proudly, then ushers him nearer to the balcony where there’s less of a commotion. 

It’s there that Feng Xin sees him.

Hair, inky and smooth, with a shine that marks curated softness. Legs, long and thin, in a way that trophies a careful lifestyle. Waist, narrow and lovely, making Feng Xin want to snake an arm around it, hold it, squeeze it.

Mu Qing. In all his glory, and even with his back facing him, there’s no doubt about it. Feng Xin knows it’s him. 

It doesn’t make sense, though. Mu Qing is in Beijing. Mu Qing is in Peking University. Mu Qing vowed to never come close, not ever again. 

“Someone caught your eye?” Pei Ming teasingly asks. Feng Xin has no time for his bullshit.

“Mu Qing,” he breathes. “How do you- Mu Qing. How do you know Mu Qing?” 

“He’s our latest recruit in the agency,” Pei Ming explains. Feng Xin blinks. ‘The agency’ must refer to the modelling group that Pei Ming’s recently decided he’s dedicating his life to, and had forgone his postgraduate studies for. Which means-

“Mu Qing is a model?” He gapes. It’d certainly make sense - Mu Qing is gorgeous unlike anyone else he’s ever seen, but-

“I completed my degree. This is just where I’ve decided I want to be,” A voice cuts in, causing Feng Xin’s neck to crane so quickly that it burns.

He’s met with the sight of flawless skin, phoenix eyes, glistening lips with a propensity for jagged words; the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

“Mu Qing,” he whispers, winded already.

Mu Qing’s ears flush red. His shoulders shrug in. “Are you just going to keep staring at me like some sort of moron?” He asks, and Feng Xin damn near collapses to his knees. With his heart thumping in his ears and his clothes suddenly too tight, too constricting, it’s exactly like if he was twelve again. 

Young, dumb, forever bound to Mu Qing.

“You fucking- piece of shit,” Feng Xin chokes out. It’s through gritted teeth, his expression is pinched, he looks angry, but his emotions are the polar opposite. What he feels can be expressed with this: after a sixteen-hour delay, a twenty-four hour flight, and three-hour car ride home, you finally roll your luggage next to the welcome mat. You open your door. Inside, you are greeted by the sight of your ugly shelf and uglier couch, the pile of childhood mementos that you’d promised you’d throw away, and the smell of old ghosts. You barely just remember to rack your shoes, your footsteps echo creepily and the floorboards moan with every minute micro-movement. For a few minutes, you are completely alone; no one in the framed photos are people that you recognise. The person in the dusty mirror’s reflection is not someone you recognise. 

Then, from up the mouldy stairs your partner sticks their head out. They’re half-asleep and bleary-eyed. They’ve still got their pyjamas on even though it’s four forty-four, as well as a necklace that’s actually a rubber toy pendant you gave them when you were both fourteen. 

“ You’re home,” they’ll greet, and “I’m home,” you’ll say. You’ll chew your dried-out lips and bow your head, then follow it up with a, “Sorry for taking so long. Sorry for being so late.”

“ It’s okay. It wasn’t difficult to wait,” they’ll tell you. “At the end of the day, I’m always here to stay.”

At twenty-two, Feng Xin yanks Mu Qing into the tightest embrace he’s ever given anyone. At twenty-two, Feng Xin gives a long-overdue apology. At twenty-two, Feng Xin admits that he didn’t understand what was happening back then, that he still doesn’t really now.

At twenty two, Feng Xin encounters the love of his life again. 

₊⊹⁀➴₊⊹

Embarrassing as it is to admit, Feng Xin’s first disagreement with his mother happens at the age of twenty-two and a half.

“What do you mean you’re not continuing?” His mother bawls into the phone. “And that you’re not coming home?” 

“Sorry ma, but it’s exactly what I said. I’m moving in with Mu Qing. I’m opening a gym,” Feng Xin explains, room now devoid of belongings. He’s just received two offers he can’t refuse, two opportunities he can’t let go of: the first is that Mu Qing wants a roommate. His mother wants to see him moving out, so that she can be absolutely sure he isn’t still revolving his life around her. The second is that Pei Ming has offered him a sizeable investment for the cheap, cheap cost of: “I get to harass you into gymming with me and be a busybody about your lovelife.” “I’ve done my research. The location is good, and with the right approach, we’ll make good money.” 

His mother lets out another sob. “But you wanted to be a sports doctor!” She insists. “And you said that once your lease was up, that you’d come home!”

Feng Xin’s body trembles. One of those is a lie and one of those is a truth. He feels awful for both. “I know, but ma, don’t worry. I promise you things will work out-”

“It’s not about letting things ‘work out,’ Xin-er! It’s about doing what’s right!” She hiccups. In turn, a small part of Feng Xin is — unsettled? Mortified? Is that the right word? That she’s acting this way. A larger part is leaning to something else entirely, but he isn’t quite sure what it is yet. “There’s a proper way to do things! A stable , and proud way. Being a gym owner doesn’t earn you renown, nor does it keep income flowing properly! Forget your parents - at this rate, how will you even take care of yourself?”

“I,” Feng Xin starts, and even at one hundred and eighty-eight centimetres of height, while weighing eighty-six kilograms, Feng Xin feels small. “I’ll be okay. I’m more prepared for this than I am to be a doctor.” A pause, and then, because he just wants his mother to understand , adds, “This will make me happy. I would have never been happy if I kept studying and ended up working in a clinic or hospital.” 

A brief lull takes place; a few spare minutes, no more than two or three, the longest that Feng Xin’s ever experienced. Each second is its own eternity, stretched and pulled taut along with the tension in the air. 

Then, his mother breaks the silence.

“It’s not about being happy,” she hisses, serpent-like. Feng Xin cannot see her, but he’s witnessed her speak like this in the past. He can easily guess what her expression must be like: tongue-curled, teeth-clenched, nose-scrunched with the added effect of wild, wild eyes. 

‘Oh,’ Feng Xin immediately realises, stomach acid rising high. ‘So this is how Jiaqi felt. Every single day - this is how jiejie felt.’

Another pause, rendering the ticking of his bedside clock as the room’s only sound. An epiphany dawns on him with all the grace of a sledgehammer, forcing him to grimace. 

‘No,’ he corrects himself. This isn’t close to it. This is barely a taste. While he entered this world bundled with silk cloth and soft hands, Jiaqi’s body was bound by barbed wire and steel. While his words were golden, wanted, precious as shining stones, hers were unheard.  Unacceptable. A burden, a stress. It’s why she kept herself so quiet. Feng Xin would hear it in passing sometimes, from their shared classmates; how Jiaqi was the life of the party, how Jiaqi snorted when she laughed, how Jiaqi could shout louder than any boy.

He’d thought all of those things were lies. It must have been; fifteen years of having crawled out the same womb together, and he’d never seen a single piece of proof. 

Their house must have been a fucking prison. No wonder she ran away.

“Do you think I was happy?” His mother asks, interrupting his pondering. “Do you think being a mother is easy? Eight years I spent trying for a baby, only to receive two! Double the expense, double the heartache. You were one thing, but that- that girl! Every single day, it was a new problem with her! Do you know how much I struggled? Do you know how much pain she caused me? Do you-”

“Do you ?” Feng Xin replies, and it is the most terrified he’s ever been.

“...What?”

It’s hard to speak. Feng Xin can hear his heart in his ears and his mouth is sticky with sealant. As soon as he says what he’s about to say, he is going to deviate from everything he was raised to do. No longer will he be the good boy, or the filial child. No longer will he have his place in the world as the mother-loving, sister-forsaking, self-righteous son.

Maybe that’s a good thing.

“Do you know how much pain you caused her,” he barrels on, and this time, when she makes a wounded noise, Feng Xin doesn’t allow himself to relent. “Up until she left - I had never even seen her smile. I had never even-” he locks his jaw. “You called her so many names. You treated her terribly. You took meat off her plate for me. I-” 

Feng Xin hunches over.

“I let you take meat off of her plate for me. I let you ice my name first on cakes. I let you push her and hit her. I defended you when I did.” He stares at his free hand. “ I pushed her. Why?”

“There’s nothing wrong with any of that!” His mother retaliates. “You’re a boy, it’s normal to-”

“So what if I’m a boy? Isn’t she still your daughter?” Feng Xin questions, and it’s something he really, really wants to know; he can’t imagine not loving his kid. There are some days where he still lies awake, staring at his ceiling as he makes up a face for his and Jian Lan’s baby. Having grown a little more, he understands why she did what she did; but selfishly, he still wishes things were different. Even if they weren’t a couple, he would’ve liked to know his child, the product of their love, however brief it may have been. 

He doesn’t get an answer.

“...She put you up to this, didn’t she?” his mother concludes, slow. 

Feng Xin stills. “ Huh?” 

“ That girl- your sister. She put you up to this, didn’t she?”

“What the ? No!” Feng Xin pushes his hair from his face. Is he - is he crazy ? Is he hearing right? “I haven’t spoken to her since she left! I don’t even know where she is!” 

“Liar,” his mother accuses, sounding hysterical. “I should’ve known- I should’ve known ! Everyone was warning me, but I didn’t listen! They told me to be careful; Jiaqi has always been manipulative. They said she’d poison your mind, and-”

“What the fuck!” Feng Xin shouts. “ ‘Poison ’ me? Manipulate me? She was fifteen! She’s my sister!” 

“Don’t lie!” His mother screeches. “She must be there with you now! Xin-er, listen to me! It’s one thing to give you up to another woman, I always knew you’d get married one day. But to lose you to your sister? I -”

For the sake of himself, Feng Xin tunes her out. The vomit is already in his throat. He wants to throw up . The worst part about this is that his mother doesn’t even have a clue how fucking weird she sounds. She’s genuinely convinced she’s right . And there’s nothing he can do about it. About her.

But there is something he can do about Jiaqi - or at least, something he can try to.

Feng Xin inhales deeply, steadying himself.

“I’m going to go now.” He announces, and by the tone of his voice, it’s made clear that there’s nothing she can do about it. “Goodbye, ma. I’ll send you the money when I earn it. You don’t have to be stressed about that.”

“What? What? Xin-er, don’t-” 

“Goodbye, ma .” He announces again, solidly. He isn’t even half as brave as he’s making himself out to be, though. When he hangs up, it’s with the crushing weight of his guilt dragging him to the floor and a resounding thud, thud.

From behind him, a familiar set of footsteps ring out. “Feng Xin, seriously, you asshole. I’ve been waiting in the car for an hour with all of your shit! What the fuck is taking you so long-”  Mu Qing stops. “...Feng Xin?”

“I.” Feng Xin shakes. He shakes, and he shakes, and he shakes, and he cannot stop shaking. “Mu Qing. She- she called Jiaqi- ‘poison me’? ‘ Manipulative’? How could-”

Comprehension blooms across Mu Qing’s countenance. He sighs.

“Listen, you spoiled baby.” Mu Qing kneels next to him. “The thing about situations like this is that they feel like they never make sense, because they don’t make sense. Your sister was right - she’s a witch. Nobody normal can treat their daughter like she did.” He sighs, exasperated. “It’s like I told you when we were seventeen. This is just how the world works. You’re going to have to get used to it.”

‘But I don’t want to get used to it,’ that same part of him still perseveres. ‘I don’t want those around me to hurt. I don’t want them to have to suffer. I want everyone to see you all the way I see you. Just good people.’

It’s good that he’s older, now. That he lets thoughts sit slightly longer prior to letting them escape. 

“What can I do?” He asks, watching as Mu Qing boredly tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. 

“Get off of the floor, maybe,” Mu Qing instructs. He stands in a swift motion, then reaches down to tug Feng Xin upwards. “Come here. You’re not going to crack the code to the world’s prejudices in your University dorm.” Mu Qing wrinkles his nose as he glances around. “Especially not when it’s so empty. It’s like a padded cell in here. Let’s go.”

Feng Xin grabs his outstretched hand and lets himself be guided.

With their fingers interlocked, the pair of them make their way into Mu Qing’s Ora Ballet Cat. They only separate to get into their respective seats, to punch in and start Mu Qing’s old Mandopop playlist, to begin driving. But as soon as the coast is clear, Mu Qing’s touch finds him again.

It probably isn’t a very good idea. Both hands should be kept on the wheel.

“I just don’t know what to fucking do,” Feng Xin admits, more so to himself than Mu Qing. Mu Qing glances at him in the rearview mirror. 

“Fighting with your mom, for one,” Mu Qing says, before training his eyes back on the road. “Was a pretty good step.” 

Feng Xin closes his eyes. Outside, a few droplets of rain go pitter patter on the hood of the car, mixing in with Faye Wong’s soulful voice. It’s all very easy to fall asleep to. He just can't yet. 

“Hey, Mu Qing,” Feng Xin calls, midway through the journey to their - their, their, their - new apartment. “I’m slow. I’m - I’m really fucking slow.” He breathes out sharply from his nose. “Wait for me?”

“Selfish bastard,” Mu Qing replies, tightening his grasp. “As if I’d ever be able to let you go.” 

₊⊹⁀➴₊⊹

Feng Xin is twenty-three when he spots a familiar face.

He’s on one of his not -dates with Mu Qing, this time at a newly-opened bar and grill. According to Mu Qing, their social media posts have promised good food, strong drinks, and even better live music, all at an early bird price. So needless to say, the two of them were sold.

It ends up being true enough; the dishes they order are hearty and well-cooked. The drinks they get served burn trails of fire down their throats. The first band performs to a satisfied crowd, then the second, and the third-

The third act isn’t a band at all. It’s a solo singer, who wears a cropped tank top and buckled jeans. Her left arm is decorated-dark to form a mural of tattoos, and her brown hair is styled into a slicked-back two-block cut. It emphasises her profile, her strong jaw, the pendant that dangles from her silver-studded ears and says Jie.

 Feng Xin knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that even without it, he’d recognise her in an instant. They may not share a roof, a house, or parents any longer, but as twins, they share blood, and they share a face. Yeah, yeah. Feng Xin would recognise her anywhere.

It would seem that the same can be said for her. Their gazes meet, and the corner of her eyes crinkle slightly. 

‘Wait,’ she mouths, just one word. Then, she wraps her fingers - each alternate member covered in a black ring - around the mic, and tears it from the stand. She bellows away with a voice so strong, and yet so controlled; sings with a human-heart on her inked-sleeve and her baby brother - by virtue of the six minutes he was born later - in the audience.

Even shaken to his very core, Feng Xin nods. He listens. He waits. 

From under the table, his fingers interlock with Mu Qing’s own. His palms are gross, sticky with sweat, and maybe he looks like he’s seconds from keeling over and dying, because Mu Qing says not one word of complaint. He squeezes back, grounding Feng Xin Yet again. 

“I was right, wasn’t I? That things got a bit lonely for a short while,” is the first thing that his sister says to him, later backstage. Mu Qing has opted to stay behind and ‘watch their food for flies,’ and so it’s just the two of them.

Feng Xin swallows thickly. “Yeah,” he admits. “For a long while.” 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re here now,” His sister harrumphs. “It’s a good thing that you’re good by nature,” she notes, delivering a light punch to his shoulder. Despite not having spoken for nine years at this point, Feng Xin feels closer to her than ever. “Kind, earnest, loyal to a fault. You’re not what she almost raised you to be.”

“I hope so,” he admits, raw in the heart. “Everyone left at some point.” Including you.

His sister shrugs. “Don’t know what happened or what they were thinking.” She pulls her guitar bag over her shoulder. Feng Xin goes rigid. It reminds him of her packing up, getting up, leaving. “But if they’re back now, shouldn’t you focus on keeping them around instead? Or do you wanna live your whole life missing ghosts?”

Feng Xin’s chest throbs achingly. He doesn’t - not at all. He has people he loves, people he wants to keep around forever. And - he thinks he can now maybe say that he has people who want him too. “I don’t,” he answers. Then, with a slight croak, begs, “Jie, I’m sorry. Could you ever forgive me?”

Jiaqi stares at him, blinking. Her expression melts from incomprehensible to touched, and she commands, “Come here, didi. Give jie a hug.”

A tear rolls down Feng Xin’s cheek as he opens his arms, and swallows her in a warm embrace. It’s the first - in their entire life - that they’ve shared.

“Sorry,” he repeats, tightening his hold. That I never helped you. That I defended ma. That you were so alone. I had to experience it too - being lonely - before understanding what it was like. “For being such a shit brother.” 

His sister rests her chin on his shoulder. Her skin is warm - really warm. Mu Qing often complains that he’s intolerable to sit next to during the summer heat. Maybe the Fengs just run hot. 

“Forgiven,” she declares. “But I want my own birthday cakes from now on.”

Feng Xin laughs nervously, but holds her a little closer as a means of agreement. Her words are a hint. A promise. “And at any future meet ups, I’ll order double servings of meat.”

“Triple. You see these muscles? I’m a big fucking eater.” Jiaqi snorts. “And I better be able to wear a fucking tampon without any sort of bitching.”

Feng Xin sputters. “Okay, that’s-!”

The fit of laughter his sister breaks out into is infectious. It’s almost an exact copy of his own, and oh wow. Oh wow - they really, really are twins. 

“I’ve gotta go now,” his sister eventually announces, pulling away. Feng Xin misses her already. “Text me!”

Feng Xin grunts his acknowledgement, feeling a bit too emotional to speak. He watches as she shrugs her shoulders back to loosen her joints, and cracks out the cricks in her neck.

“Wait,” he shouts out, panicked as she finally makes the effort to go. He still has so many questions: where did you stay, how did you survive, where will you be? “I don’t have your number - how do I-?”

“I left a note with your little boyfriend!” She yells back, grinning. “And by the way - the answer is Shantou first, then Haikou. Six years, then three. And from now on, I’m here! The Shanghai big wigs have finally taken notice of me! Though I’ll admit I fucked up - they’re not a big fan of my wall of tattoos.”

Feng Xin’s breath hitches.

Man, he thinks, very touched, very creeped.

They really, really are twins. If only he thought as much sooner. 

“Oh yeah,” she adds, as she stands right in front of the entrance. “You have two nieces now. Twins. Like us.” She grins. “I guess us Fengs just run hot!”

“Ew, I don’t want to think of you, the fuck-” Feng Xin spits, and then Jiaqi is finally, finally swinging the door open, guffawing, guffawing, guffawing uncontrollably as she leaves.

₊⊹⁀➴₊⊹

Mu Qing and him are twenty-four when they share their first kiss.

All things considered, it’s long, long overdue; they share an apartment. They live together. Mu Qing has been convincing him to adopt a cat. Feng Xin makes them breakfast in the morning. Mu Qing tells him, “I don’t want anything,” then devours three-quarters of his takeout fries. Feng Xin has loved him twelve years and counting. 

But that’s okay , Feng Xin thinks, licking his now-bruised lips as he stares down at a flustered Mu Qing. If it means that he gets to have this in the end: the bitchiest, whiniest, most ethereal being caged in his arms, roseate-skinned like a cherub and almost whining for him, Feng Xin would do it again. Feng Xin would do everything again. Just as long as he ends up with this.  

“I love you,” Feng Xin declares, refusing to look elsewhere for even a second. Mu Qing lifts up his elbow and tries to cover his face with his oversized sweater-paw sleeves, but Feng Xin pries it away. “I love you.”

“You already said that,” Mu Qing says, now trying to retreat into his turtleneck collar. 

“ I love you,” Feng Xin repeats, not letting Mu Qing escape.

“Okay.” Mu Qing cranes his head, no longer able to tolerate the heat of such an intense gaze. 

“I love you!” Feng Xin slots a leg between Mu Qing’s own. “ I love you, I love you, I love-”

“Shut up! I get it! I said okay!” Mu Qing clenches his eyes shut. 

“...So say it back,” Feng Xin begs, raw and vulnerable and full of tender-hearted yearning. “Please.”

“Idiot. Who even says I do,” Mu Qing mumbles, before flinching at his own words. The familiar ache of cold loneliness begins creeping into Feng Xin’s chest, and he sluggishly pulls away- “...Of course I l-l-love you too.” 

At once, it’s as if the world comes to a halt. The music playing in the background - his sister’s debut album - fades into a muted nothing, and besides Mu Qing, all objects are drained of their colours; in this moment, Feng Xin has eyes to see, but eyes only to see Mu Qing.

A thought tears him from his reverie. Feng Xin jumps back like he’s been burned.

“Wait, Mu Qing, before we start anything, I need to come clean,” Feng Xin admits. He folds his legs under him, feet digging into the meat of the couch. “I.” He clenches his palms. “When I was still in Uni, I met someone. We dated for a bit. I slept with her.” Feng Xin pauses again, ashamed. “What I’m trying to tell you is, I have a k-”

“A kid?” Calmly, Mu Qing sits up. He curls his knees to his chest and rests his head on his palm. “I’ve known for a while.” 

“W-what?” Feng Xin stumbles. “How-”

“Well Jian Lan is my stylist, first of all,” Mu Qing confesses. Feng Xin doesn’t know if it’s fair for him to be, but a part of him feels horribly betrayed. “And according to her, I’m the skank whose name her ex-boyfriend muttered in his sleep.”

For the second time that day, Feng Xin’s world comes to a grinding halt. Except it’s not half as dreamy, half as pleasant. “I…” he goes quiet. “You all knew… Why- why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Feng Xin, think about this for a moment,” Mu Qing chides. “Is it my place to?” He inhales deeply. “But… Jian Lan did say I could tell you this, the day that it got brought up: No, you don’t.”

Shakily, Feng Xin whispers, “What do you mean?”

“No, you don’t have a kid.” Mu Qing’s expression grows tender as he speaks. He always did have a soft spot for mothers. “Jian Lan miscarried.” 

Miscarried.  Miscarried. The word doesn’t make any sense. He’s both confused and numb; all this time, searching and searching and searching for answers, and now that he’s got it, he’s just left with more uncertainties. More questions.

“ Nothing .” Mu Qing leans in, and with the entire expanse of his neck to his cheek flushing a concerning shade of red, rests their foreheads together. “That comes from me would be appropriate. Or satisfactory. You’re going to have to talk to her.” 

Right against Mu Qing’s skin, Feng Xin nods. “Okay,” he mutters, rooted to Earth only by the occasional fan of Mu Qing’s breaths. 

He exhales again, calmer.

“Okay.”

ﾒ₊✧ ﾟ⚬𓂂➢

Monday rolls around, and Feng Xin finds himself in front of a huge, towering glass building. 

It’s absolutely fucking domineering. At least forty floors tall, and with its own private parking; security guards stationed front and back, ID-checking him, patting him down as he enters.

‘Floor thirty-eight, floor thirty-eight ,’ he reminds himself, doing his best to follow Mu Qing’s instructions. ‘ One PM. Our lunchbreak. She knows you’re coming. Get a visitation pass from the front desk, head up any main lift. Floor thirty-eight, floor thirty-eight, door furthest to your left.’

Eventually, Feng Xin finds the room in question. It’s a studio, judging by its embossed labelling, and when he enters, he’s met with the sight of fluorescent lights. Coloured backdrops. Rows and rows of wardrobe racks, stationed next to a mountain of make up kits. Mu Qing, sipping from a straw, and Jian Lan fluttering around him.

“Careful, I said careful! ” She barks, scowling. “Don’t ruin your lipstick!”

Mu Qing ducks away. “I obviously know! Just get away from me already! Go eat!” 

“You know I can’t!” Jian Lan reaches over, and forcefully adjusts Mu Qing’s choker. “I’m too fucking nervous, I- Feng Xin. ”

Feng Xin shuffles where he stands. “Hi. Jian Lan. Mu Qing.” 

“Nope, leave me out of this,” Mu Qing reactively orders. If Feng Xin were a few years younger he’d be furious . He isn’t though, so he knows better now; this is Mu Qing trying to give them some space, and should Feng Xin need anything, he’ll come instantly sprinting. “Call me when you’re done. And remember, lunch ends at two. If Shi Wudu shows up and we’re still standing around, he’ll cut both our pays.”

“Yeah, yeah, stop bitching,” Jian Lan agrees, but her shoulders still square when Mu Qing makes himself scarce. 

“Um.” Feng Xin noisily clears his throat. “Hi.” 

Jian Lan takes a deep breath. “Hey.”

Silence. 

A minute goes by.

“Mu Qing told me-”

“So I guess you already-”

Feng Xin grimaces. This is so fucking awkward. “You first,” he offers.

“No, you,” Jian Lan entreats. 

“ Two PM!” Mu Qing reminds, like the fucking dick he is.  

“Okay, okay, shit,” Jian Lan relents, eyes finally flickering up to meet his. “I’ll start.”

Feng Xin nods, waiting not-so patiently. 

“Well, for starters, I did run away. To Hangzhou. It was tough. Living on my own, I mean,” Jian Lan explains, though she seems unaffected. “Worked a few odd jobs, had to do some stuff I’m not proud of, and ended up losing the baby anyways.” 

“Sorry.” That you had to go through that. That I wasn’t there. That you were by yourself. 

“‘S not your fault,” Jian Lan replies. “I was the one who wanted to leave.” 

“I’m still sorry. For making you want to.” Feng Xin hangs his head. “If I can do anything to help you, please just let me know-”

“Woah, steady there,” Jian Lan interrupts. “Help with what? Those were my decisions. You didn’t make me do anything.” Annoyed, she wrinkles her nose. “Plus, I’m fine now , aren’t I? I’m healthy, I’m back in the city, I have a booming career in the nation’s most up and coming modelling agency. Or what - do I look like some sort of charity case to you?”

“No, no!” Feng Xin sputters. God. What’s with her and Mu Qing always making assumptions like that? “I just- I don’t know, I was worried you were…sad?”

At that, Jian Lan lets her guard down. Just a tiny bit. “ ‘Sad’,” she repeats, as if considering it. “No, honestly. I’m quite happy.”

“Even having lost the baby?” The words slip out of Feng Xin’s mouth. He wants to hit himself for it. “Fuck, sorry-”

“Even having lost the baby. In fact, it might have been for the best - I’m happier than I would’ve been, I think,” Jian Lan confirms. “Blunt as ever, huh?” 

“Sorry, I just- You really wanted them,” Feng Xin explains. Sadness flickers across Jian Lan’s face, and this time, Feng Xin does strike his palm against his cheek. 

“God- what the fuck!” Jian Lan cries. “What is wrong with you! Why did you do that!”

“I don’t know! I just hurt you again!” Feng Xin helplessly yells. “I’m so lost!”

Jian Lan pulls at her own hair. What a scene the two of them must make; two nuisances in an exclusive but public space, one here as a supermodel’s guest and the other on the clock. “Well stop treating me like I’m some helpless beggar and you’ll be fine!” 

“Um, okay, I-”

“Okay, listen!” Jian Lan puts her foot down. “Yes, I’m fine. No, I don’t need your money. Yes, life has been hard, yes, I’m happy anyways. And no.” She scratches her scalp frustratedly. “I don’t hate you. I don’t resent you. I don’t feel any aminosity towards you. It’s like I said back then - our romance wasn’t meant to last. I accepted that years ago, and I do now. It’s been ages.” 

“Okay.” Feng Xin backs down. “Yeah, I get it.” Then, because he genuinely cannot help himself, continues, “You’re really okay?”

“Perfectly fine, if not kinda tired,” Jian Lan affirms. “Again, look around. This whole set? I’ve got access to. Your bitchy boyfriend? That’s my canvas.” She folds her arms across her chest, valiant and proud. “I’ve done well for myself, don’t you think?” 

She has. She really, really has. Even without any knowledge on modelling, Feng Xin has no doubts that this place isn’t exactly easy to get into. Competition must have been incomprehensibly fierce. And yet - Jian Lan battled through it. Jian Lan won.

It occurs to him then, what she meant when she said that she’s happier than she would’ve been . How  many companies would want to hire, let alone accommodate a single mother? How would she have been able to dedicate time to her work, when she wouldn’t have been able to afford child care? Jian Lan isn’t the kind to take things lying down, but she would have been shunned for many years to come, simply because the rest of society decided that her circumstances made her lesser than. The thought is so infuriating, and Feng Xin’s face pulls itself into a taut scowl. 

Satisfied, Jian Lan grins. “I think you’re starting to get my perspective now,” she states, as she moves to rest her hand on her hips. “Besides. I’m no broken good. Someone will fall in love with me again. I’ll have another shot at motherhood. Doesn’t have to be now.” 

“Yeah,” Feng Xin agrees, and he truly means it. Jian Lan is the kind of person who’s impossible to not fall in love with - she just wasn’t his to love. “I’m really fucking happy to see you’re doing so well, Jian Lan. I seriously mean it. It’s been great seeing you.”

“Same here.” Jian Lan huffs. “And I’ll be around, so don’t be a stranger - come say hi.”

Warmth blooms under Feng Xin’s skin. He will. Feng Xin definitely will.

“Speaking of which, would it kill you to visit your boyfriend sometimes?” Jian Lan snips, tearing Feng Xin from his reverie. “Maybe then he’ll stop being in such a bad mood all the time. And what kind of man has a supermodel partner and doesn’t even pester him? Are you serious?”

“Well, he isn’t exactly my boyfriend yet,” Feng Xin blurts, and it kills him a little to do so. 

Jian Lan’s eye twitches. “You’re so fucking stupid,” she hisses. “Do you have any idea how popular he is? Do you? He has eight million followers collectively! Keep dilly-dallying, and he’s going to get snatched up!”

Heeding Jian Lan’s advice, Feng Xin agrees enthusiastically. He says bye to her and Mu Qing and dashes back to his car, punching in a quick search for the nearest florist. Speaking with a speed previously unknown to mankind, Feng Xin then begs them for their most romantic bouquet, pays with a hefty tip, then hurries to the grocery store where he picks up all the ingredients to Mu Qing’s favourite dishes. 

“I love you! Please be my boyfriend - officially!” Feng Xin exclaims, the very instance that Mu Qing steps into their abode, the bundle of flowers standing proud on their dining table amongst plates of scrumptious food. “I’ll adopt a cat with you, I’ll wash the dishes, I’ll even clear the stupid , disgusting fucking drain that’s full of your hair and conditioner-”

The kiss that Mu Qing yanks him into his crushing. It forces their teeth to clack together and punches out Feng Xin’s breath. Still, it does wonders in shutting him up - and so it’s perfect as can be.

“I really am in love with an utter idiot,” Mu Qing grieves. “My life is so unfortunate. I have the stupidest boyfriend in the world.” 

Boyfriend. B-o-y f-r-i-e-n-d. Feng Xin feels giddy. Feng Xin feels twelve again. Feng Xin could lift planets, slay demons, battle gods and come back humming a tune, sauntering.

He’s over the moon. Feng Xin snakes his shaking hands around Mu Qing’s waist, tugging him until they are pressed chest to chest. He idly wonders if Mu Qing can feel his thunderous heartbeat, what with how it’s doing its best to leap out of his sternum and enter Mu Qing’s own. 

“I like your crooked nose. Who gave that to you?” Mu Qing asks, as he throws his hands over Feng Xin’s shoulders. 

“The love of my life,” Feng Xin proclaims, growing proud when it makes Mu Qing shiver. “And you? Who’s responsible for those bruised ribs of yours?”

“I don’t know,” Mu Qing snarks. Annoying, annoying, annoying. “Just some crazy fan. He isn’t important.” 

“ Annoying.” Feng Xin leans in.

“Coming from you?” Mu Qing shifts close; closer. “That’s rich.”

Their lips meet again, and this time - 

After the long wait of twenty-four years, Feng Xin makes it known to the love of his life that he is the love of his life. 

₊⊹⁀➴₊⊹

Feng Xin is twenty-six when he receives a text from an unknown number.

It’s five sharp in the morning, the time of the first Taoist Morning Rites. If the incessant buzzing is anything to go by, Feng Xin had forgotten to set his phone to silent mode last night - and so he frantically fumbles to do so before he wakes Mu Qing.  

‘Shit, shit, shit,’ he thinks, as he blindly grabs for the stupid thing. Whoever is messaging him at this unknown hour better have a damn good explanation-

“Hi, Feng Xin!” reads the first text, followed by, “ It’s me - Xie Lian!” Then, “I’m back in Shanghai!”

With a jolt that leaves the entire mattress rocking, Feng Xin sits upright.

“Sorry, sorry baobei, it’s nothing,” he hushedly comforts, soothing a hand down Mu Qing’s side when his fiancé groans in his sleep. Then, his fingers fly back to his screen.

‘Hi,’ he types at first, but it doesn’t feel right. He deletes it. ‘Welcome back,’ he tries again, but it’s still just - weird.

‘Dianxia, is it really you?’ He eventually settles on, phone wet with his incessant sweating. If Mu Qing was up to see this, he’d be called a disgusting, sweaty circus freak twelve counts and over.

‘Ah, Feng Xin, still with that nickname!’ Comes the reply after a long, long wait. Feng Xin’s eye flickers to the clock next to his battery symbol, and - nine minutes. Xie Lian took nine minutes to get that out. ‘Sorry. I’m not good at this smartphone thing. Can I call you?’

In lieu of a response, Feng Xin smashes the ring button.

“Feng Xin!” Comes the lively, wonderful voice of his best friend - the first he’s heard of in eight years. Eight fucking years! Feng swears he’s lived three lifetimes since then; died and died and died and come back again. But he’s on his fourth run now, and he thinks he just might survive it.  “Hello, hello ! I've missed you so much! How are you!”

Feng Xin scrambles out the room, louder than he’d like. “ Dianxia,” he breathes. “ Dianxia, I’m- how are you?”

“I’m doing fantastic, thank you! I hope you don’t mind - someone helped me get your phone number,” Xie Lian explains, jovial. Feng Xin gets the feeling that Xie Lian was spot-on for wanting to do some soul-searching all those years ago. He seems happier than he ever did, even as a kid. “And you?”

“Amazing,” Feng Xin responds, a bit too quickly. “Really really amazing.” 

“That makes me so happy to hear. Really.” There’s some fumbling from the other end of the phone, and some utterance of ‘Good morning to you too, San Lang!’ before Xie Lian continues. “I was worried about you. I hope you didn’t feel like I left you behind.”

Feng Xin grimaces. He did, but that isn’t Xie Lian’s fault. It also needed to happen - for both of their sakes. 

“It’s fine,” Feng Xin croaks. His mind drifts back to Mu Qing, who’s slumbering without a care in the world in their shared bed. He thinks of the ring that’s now sitting snug on his finger, that Feng Xin spent months mulling over and hours pestering Jiaqi and Jian Lan about. He thinks of how just up until ten minutes ago, he was sure there’d be a hole in his wedding in the shape of Xie Lian. “I’m sorry you felt you had to go.” 

Because that must have been it, right? He might not have been the sole cause, but just like with the others, he must’ve at least played a small part in why Xie Lian ran off. He hasn’t quite figured out what he’s done, exactly - or maybe it’s what he hasn’t done. He just knows he needs to apologise for it.

He just knows he needs Xie Lian to stay.

Some more rustling. “Oh Feng Xin,” Xie Lian coos, in the tone that he used to take with the broken-winged birds he picked up from the ground. “It was never because of you. You’re my best friend.” 

Feng Xin drops his forehead into his hand. Though his chest begins to ache, it isn’t in a strictly painful way . 

Best friend, huh? Even after all this time. 

Well - it’s not like he feels any differently.

“...You're mine too, Dianxia. Until the day I die,” Feng Xin confesses, and suddenly, he’s six again, back on the playground, with Xie Lian on the swings. “I didn’t know how to live without you most days.” 

“I didn’t either,” Xie Lian says in turn, so quietly that Feng Xin almost misses it. “Sometimes, I would talk to myself as if you were there. I’d talk about new changes, things that scared me.” He pauses. Feng Xin hones in on the gentle lull of his breathing. “I guess this prince was a bit naive. I needed my royal guard a lot more than I’d realised.”

Feng Xin’s heart breaks. He peels the phone from his ear and stares at it woefully, tongue-tied. If only Xie Lian understands how much Feng Xin needs him too; what they have is not romance. They may not be partners. They may not be lovers. 

No. What they are is something much more powerful: a crown prince and his sworn protector. Brothers bound by cloth, steel, loss, choice; devotion and distress. Not til death do us part, and instead, I will shield you from death. 

“...Can I do something selfish?” Xie Lian requests. 

“Of course.” Xie Lian has never been selfish in his life. Feng Xin hopes he’ll start now.

Audibly, Xie Lian inhales. “Feng Xin,” he calls. It’s horrible and wobbly. “My mother and father are gone.” 

My mother and father are gone.

My mother and father are gone.

My mother and father are gone.

The news comes crashing in like old stone to stained glass, forcing Feng Xin to lean on the wall for stability . That just- can’t be true. Uncle and Aunty Xie, gone? The two adults who let him sleepover on the nights Jiaqi and his mother were arguing, checked his grades with him, watched him grow?

No- no -

“ Phew,” Xie Lian sighs. He sounds- relieved? Feng Xin doesn’t understand .

“That feels good,” Xie Lian continues on to declare. “To finally have you listening.”

… Ah.

Feng Xin supposes then, that it must’ve been a while since their passing; it doesn’t make it any easier to bear, but he just hopes that their rest has been peaceful. If Xie Lian permits, he’d like to go pay his respects one day. 

“So thank you. I- Oh! Is it the time already?” It’s obvious that the question isn’t directed at  Feng Xin, but rather someone else in the room.  Maybe that ‘San Lang’ from earlier? “Sorry, Feng Xin! I wish I got to hear more from you, but I have to go now! I’ll text - or, well - call you again! You better scold me if I spend all our time talking like today. Let’s go grab a meal sometime! 

Feng Xin would love nothing more. “Let’s catch up when you’re free, Dianxia.”

“Yes, yes!” Xie Lian enthusiastically agrees. “Let’s!”

The two of them exchange one last round of goodbyes before the line goes dead. When Feng Xin trudges back to the room it’s in an auto-pilot state: one foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other, climb into the bed.

“Wh, hm?” Mu Qing sleepily grumbles, hair plastered all over his face. There’s a thin trail of drool lining his chin and a stray fallen eyelash on his cheek, and Feng Xin’s oversized shirt slips down his shoulder.

So this , Feng Xin realises, as he prepares to share what he’s just learned to Mu Qing, head-over heels and twenty-six years from the day he was born, is love. 

₊⊹⁀➴₊⊹

In the span between Feng Xin turning from twenty-seven to twenty-eight, he hosts a Lunar New Year’s open-house for the very first time.

Why he even suggests it, he has no clue. Maybe it’s because he finally feels adult enough to. Maybe it’s because he’ll get to show off his new abode. Maybe it’s because he’s riding off the high of having just married Mu Qing.

Maybe it’s because he just wants to. Maybe it’s just because he’s in love; with everyone, everything.

Maybe.

“I can’t believe I can no longer leech off Xie Lian’s dick husband and Shi Wudu,” Mu Qing mourns, looking absolutely stunning in his silk Qipao. “Now I’m the one that needs to give up my money instead. I should have never agreed to marry you.”

“So fucking stingy,” Feng Xin lightheartedly chides. “This only happens once a year.”

“I know, but I feel bitter.” Mu Qing clutches his embroidered pouch to his chest, and it’s half as voluminous as in the hour before. “What do you mean I have to give a hongbao to Shi Qingxuan? The one he gets from Shi Wudu is already worth five times my yearly salary.”

“Well he isn’t married, and we are,” Feng Xin reasons, growing giddy at the mention of being married once again. “And he’s visiting our house. So we have to.”

“I just don’t feel like I should be rewarding-” Mu Qing gestures to the scene in front of them, where Shi Qingxuan is lying flat on his back, legs spread and hanfu skirt flared open. He’s whining for his beloved Xuan Ge who sits a table’s length away, and is refusing to stand despite his brother’s looming, furious stance. “That.” 

Feng Xin doesn’t exactly disagree. But he still doesn’t like letting Mu Qing win without a fight.

“You just like bitching,” Feng Xin eggs. “You’re a fucking supermodel. We just bought a penthouse in fucking Xintiandi. I think you’ll be fine.”

“You wouldn’t get it.” Mu Qing gestures vaguely for the pork-floss cookies, specifically the one with a bit of seaweed on them. Feng Xin passes it to him without needing to be asked. “It’s about the principle, you piece of shit. He hasn’t even properly greeted us yet - who does that?! Even Shi Wudu’s actual newborn is better behaved! Look! At least he's just soundly sleeping in Pei Ming's arms! Plus, Shi Qingxuan has already been spoiled his whole life.” 

“Well, it’s bad fucking luck for us if we don’t give anything,” Feng Xin argues. It’s ridiculous - the two of them have already been cursing to high heaven. He opens his mouth and leans forward slightly, waiting for Mu Qing to place a biscuit in it. When Mu Qing does just that, he starts to chew. Noisily. “Just give him like,” he starts, punctuating each word with a crunch. “I don’t know. Five yuan .” 

“ Five yuan,” Mu Qing repeats, eye twitching. “Five fucking yuan. This isn’t a funeral , Feng Xin! Who the fuck gives in odd numbers during the New Year’s?! And - five? Are you kidding me? Your face may be as thick as your skull but I refuse to be known as a miser!” He grits his teeth. “And stop chewing like that! You know I can’t sweep today!”

“You are a miser! You were literally just complaining about giving the money!” Feng Xin’s palms flare out. He starts to chew even more obnoxiously. Then, just for the fuck of it, he picks up an orange and chucks it at Mu Qing. “So do you want to or not?! You always have to overcomplicate everything-”

Mu Qing throws it right back. It smacks Feng Xin square in the jaw, leaving Mu Qing looking incredibly smug and satisfied. His expression quickly shifts back. “I already said, it’s. About. The. Principle-!”

The abrupt cacophony of thunderous pounding on their outer-door cuts Mu Qing short.

“Xin jiujiu! Qing jiujiu!” a set of familiar voices shout out. The couple shoot to their feet instantly, rushing over to the entrance together. There, they’re greeted by the sight of Feng Xin’s sister, sister-in-law, and two nieces; of which are dressed in matching purple hanfu. 

“Hurry up, unlock it already!” Mu Qing hisses, as Feng Xin fumbles with the handle. 

“What do you think I’m doing?” Feng Xin responds, finally unlatching the glass door. 

“Jiujiu, jiujiu ! Happy New Year! Stay healthy, and may your hopes be fulfilled!” The girls greet, leaping over to hug an uncle’s leg each. Both Feng Xin and Mu Qing soften immediately, melting, melting, melting.

“You two are weak. Don’t fall for it. They’re just hoping you’re going to give them a big fat hongbao, ” his sister says, in lieu of a greeting. She shoves a large paperbag full of doorgifts - biscuits and abalone and a bottle of moonshine -to Feng Xin’s chest then grins. “Here, for you. Happy New Year. A-Yu made the baijiu herself, by the way.”

Feng Xin glances over to his sister’s wife; now Feng Yutong, who’s shorter than his sister, thinner than his sister, but thrice as energetic. In fact - as it turns out, Jiaqi had ended up with her childhood crush too. Feng Xin remembers meeting her for the first time, hand in hand with his not-yet boyfriend Mu Qing, and recognising her as one of their classmates from primary school. 

“I hope you like it!” Yutong chirps, while reaching over to pull her children off Feng Xin and Mu Qing. Held flush to her front, the resemblance between the three is painstakingly clear; round cheeks, brown-doe eyes, and a cute button nose. 

Because as it also turns out, Jiaqi was just full of shit. The Fengs run hot , Feng Xin’s fucking ass - the girls weren’t biologically related to her at all! Rather, they were adopted upon the tragic passing of Yutong’s closest cousin, and taken as their own.

Doesn’t make them any less of his nieces, though. 

Having had enough of lingering at the doorway, Feng Xin and Mu Qing usher their relatives inside. Mu Qing forks over a suspiciously thick hongbao without complaint when the girls are seated, plates of food in front of them and soymilk boxes in hand. 

“I told you,” Mu Qing grumbles, upon noticing Feng Xin’s stare lingering for too long. His ears are flushed a jarring shade of red. “It’s about the principle.”

Their house continues to fill up even after. Xie Lian and his piece of shit husband are the next to arrive, the former plainly dressed and the latter looking no different than his usual, gaudy, red-packet suit self. Then, it’s Jian Lan and her new girlfriend, who Pei Ming damn near faints upon seeing, because it’s his crazy ex Xuan fucking Ji.

“She doesn’t even want you anymore, you vain fuck. She’s with me, ” Jian Lan seethes, thrusting a small hamper into Feng Xin’s chest without acknowledging him. Then, she begins pushing Xuan Ji from behind, and shouts, “Alright circus freaks! Move, move! Nothing to see!”

Then, the very last to arrive is Mu Qing’s dear, sweet mother, who everyone seems to calm upon seeing. She enters the abode with a gentle smile and gentler words, cupping her son’s face and placing a kiss. She does the same for Feng Xin, and up this close, Feng Xin can make out the many details of her face: laugh lines, crow’s feet, the signs of a life well-lived. It’s not anything new, but for every encounter that Feng Xin shares with her, it’s made blatantly clear just why Mu Qing had entered the world caring for her so fiercely. It’s made unmissable why Mu Qing’s childhood aspiration was to never see her have to thread a needle again. It’s made unmistakable why Mu Qing has become who he is - determined and protective and the walking, talking, animation of love. Even if he never admits it.

Unlike Feng Xin’s own mother, who now only receives seasonal pleasantries and silent transfers to her bank account, Mu Qing’s mother will love, and be loved, until the day that she dies. She won’t ever be thought of guiltily, she won’t ever need to have her image defended. The space that she fills in the minds of others is not in hypotheticals; what if things could be different. What if things could be fixed. She will live, and live, and live, and then, when she is gone, she will be eternally missed.

“Oh, please don’t mind me,” she exclaims, as she realises how much time has passed. “Ignore this old lady - let’s focus on celebrating.” 

From there, the festivities resume in full swing. The Mahjong set is rolled out and old friends mingle with the new friends that have also become old friends. The serving trays are emptied and the snack jars go missing. Group photos are taken, firecrackers are lit, Shi Qingxuan snags his hongbao . Feng Xin and Mu Qing are constantly on their feet, hustling and bustling like tiny worker ants. 

It’s quite possibly the most content Feng Xin has ever been.

Feng Xin crawls into bed that night, not even having showered. Although Mu Qing whines at him for it, he’s so tired that he doesn’t do anything, and seconds later, falls dead-asleep with a head full of still-wet hair. 

“G’night,” Feng Xin exhaustedly mumbles. He throws a limp arm over Mu Qing and places a lame kiss somewhere on Mu Qing’s cheek. 

Then, he’s out cold, with his living room downstairs still a mess and the fireworks outside exploding. Feng Xin doesn’t stir. He doesn’t even hear it.

Feng Xin is not even twenty-eight years old when he’s lived out his dreams.

₊⊹⁀➴₊⊹

One day, during the June (maybe July, he’s not checking) of when he’s twenty-nine, after an hour-long jog that leaves him soaked by the rain, Feng Xin steps onto his entranceway mat.

It’s a plain thing. Strategically dark-coloured to hide shoe stains and dirt marks. Feng Xin dries his trainers off on it. He pushes open the door. Inside, he’s greeted by the sight of his ridiculously expensive shelf and his even more ridiculously expensive couch. The pile of baby furniture that he’s promised to assemble. The smell of newly-refilled incense sticks. He immediately racks his shoes; if he leaves them lying around, he’ll never hear the end of it. When he walks, the wooden floors don’t make a sound and are completely solid under his feet. 

Even by himself, Feng Xin finds that he doesn’t feel alone; his counters are overcrowded with photos of loved ones. His mirror reflects an image of a young man, muscled and toned and the product of hours in the gym. 

Then, from up the well-lit stairs, his husband sticks his head out. He’s newly woken, bleary-eyed, has a hand on his lower back to support the weight of his rounded belly. He’s still in Feng Xin’s clothes even though it’s six fifty-three, and proudly wears the ring Feng Xin engraved both their names in at age twenty-seven. 

“You’re home,” Mu Qing greets.

“I’m home,” Feng Xin says. He bites down on his water-wet lips and bows his head, flicking off his drenched hoodie. “Sorry for taking so long. Got caught in the rain.” 

“It’s okay. I haven’t even gotten dinner ready,” Mu Qing tells him. He cups the front of his stomach, smoothing his palm down the curve of it. “I’ll start cooking now, if you can wait.”

“You sure you’re not too tired to?” Feng Xin asks, hurriedly rushing to escort his heavily pregnant spouse. 

Mu Qing hums. He lets himself be helped down by Feng Xin, and hangs on to his arm. “If I don’t, I’ll be restless later.”

“Just don’t overexert yourself,” Feng Xin chides. They make their way to the kitchen, where Feng Xin takes note of how the ingredients are already neatly laid out.  “You never know when to take a damn break.” 

“Shut up. It's just a bit of fatigue,” Mu Qing argues, though it lacks any bite. “Hand me the pan.”

Feng Xin does as he’s told, then does more after. He buzzes and flutters and swarms around Mu Qing, until his partner cannot stand it any longer and literally, physically kicks him from the space. 

“At least she’ll never have to worry,” Mu Qing comments with a roll of his eyes, when the meal is ready and Feng Xin forces him to sit. “At the end of the day, her baba's always going to be near. Bloody helicopter parent - permanently here to stay.” 

“As if you’ll be any better.” Feng Xin shoves a spoonful of steamed egg and rice into Mu Qing’s mouth before he can retaliate. Mu Qing scowls, but starts to chew anyway.

They continue like that until Mu Qing’s share of dinner is done. He’ll never admit to it, but Feng Xin knows he loves being spoiled like this - and that’s more than alright with him. Feng Xin loves doing the spoiling. Feng Xin loves knowing he’s helping. Feng Xin loves loving and loves the love he receives in turn.

And not just from Mu Qing. From everyone, everything. At twenty-nine, Feng Xin plays many roles: a brother, a friend, a husband, an expectant father, and he’s dutiful in each. He’s a son by birth and a boy in body, a guard by choice and a Feng by name. He’s a fighter, a talker, a well-rounded man; he’s prone to anger, to shame, to not confusion, to doubt.

But that’s okay - Feng Xin will keep learning. Keep doing better. He’ll also keep making a fool out of himself, but that’s okay, it’s okay.  

Because at the young, young age of twenty-nine, Feng Xin still has his whole life ahead of him.